


Turbulence

by Freaky123



Category: cirque du freak
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freaky123/pseuds/Freaky123
Summary: The three hunters board a plane piloted by Gavner- what could go wrong?Everything.
Relationships: Larten Crepsley/Vancha March
Comments: 10
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Turbulent 

“Charna’s fucking guts,” Vancha muttered as he walked the terminal. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” Darren sighed for what seemed to be the millionth time in the hour. 

“I have not been on a plane since Paris,” Larten commented. He stepped lightly into the plane. “I do hope that they are sturdier than their predecessors.” A flight attendant gave him a weird look, and all Darren could do was whisper sorry. 

“I don’t trust these machines,” Vancha whispered loudly. Several people stared at him, and Darren was thankful he convinced Vancha to shower (with soap) before the flight. He also convinced him to wear “normal” clothing- gray sweatpants and a t shirt. 

“Why are all of the women staring at me?” Vancha asked. Darren shrugged as he piled their luggage into the carry on above them. “Does it have to do with my good looks?” 

“Something like that,” Darren muttered under his breath. In his peripheral vision he saw the women making crude gestures with pens and their hands, and he was thankful that Vancha didn’t see. 

“Where is Harkat?” Larten asked, turning around and scanning the ground. Darren sighed again. 

“We put him with the animals,” Darren explained. Vancha let out a chuckle that sounded a bit forced. 

“Poor guy.” Vancha stared at the ticket in his hand. 

“Darren had to explain that he was a chihuahua with a birth defect,” Larten said with a stifled laugh, “those damned ankle biters.” 

“What’s even worse is that they believed him,” Vancha whispered. The ceilings began to close in on him. He swallowed and looked at the ticket once more. 

“There’s three seats,” he said, “so where do we all sit?” Darren took Vancha and Larten’s tickets and looked at the numbers and letters. 

“Larten, you’ll sit by the window,” Darren said, “so you go in first.” Larten paled. 

“Are you certain?” He asked. Darren looked at the tickets again. 

“Yes.” 

Larten slid into the seat, and made his way ever so slowly to the window. He clenched his fists and stared at Darren. 

“Do not ever call me Larten ever again, Darren.” Darren grinned impishly. 

“Of course, Pilot Hardass.” Larten glared at him as hard as he could, but the ghost of a smile played on his lips. 

“I guess that means I’m in the middle,” Vancha said. He slid into the middle seat, exhaled, and turned his head to Larten. 

“Pilot Hardass,” he greeted. Larten smacked him across the face. “Well deserved.” 

“And that makes three,” Darren said with a sigh as he slid into the aisle seat. He had flown once as a small child from Cork to Ibiza, but he was too small to remember it. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” a flight attendant greeted the plane, “please buckle your seatbelts and listen to the instructions.” 

“Instructions?” Larten asked. Darren nodded. 

“Yeah, in case of an accident,” Darren said.” Larten paled. 

“Accident?” He said softly. 

“They’re few and far in between,” Vancha reassured himself and Larten. “On my honor.” 

Larten let out a breath of relief and listened earnestly as the flight attendant announced the pilots. 

“Flying is to our destination today are Pilot Gavner Purl and Co-Pilot Larry Benderson.” Larten smiled and muttered something under his breath. 

“That’s my boy.” 

The flight attendant then walked them through the proper precautions for each scenario. 

“-the oxygen masks will descend from the air in the event of low oxygen in the cabin,” Larten heard. “Place your mask on first before aiding others, such as small children.” 

The engines started, which caused Larten to gasp. Vancha instinctively reached his hand over to Larten’s and grasped it. Larten squeezed it hard, and Vancha rubbed his thumb across the top of Larten’s hand in a soothing motion. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “they’ve had decades of innovations.” Larten snorted. 

“Decades to fuck up is more like it.” Vancha let out a chuckle. 

“Look at me,” Vancha whispered softly. “I won’t let anything happen to you in this plane- I promise.” Larten smiles faintly and bit his cheek. 

The plane started to ascend through the skies, and Larten stared at Vancha. Darren had put earbuds in long before this, and all he wanted was to get to London as soon as possible. All three of them on a plane that Gavner was piloting seemed like a recipe for disaster. 

“Mon ange,” Vancha soothed, “you’re fine.” Larten nodded and stared at Vancha. 

Vancha drew in a shaky breath and smiled for Larten’s sake. He may look fine on the outside, but truth be told he had been nauseous since the moment he stepped foot on the damned contraption. He had listened to the instructions thoroughly, thankfully, so he knew where the airsickness bags were located. 

“Vancha,” Larten whispered. Vancha could feel bile rising in his throat. 

“Yes?” He asked. His eyes and hands darted just in time to the airsickness bag. 

Being a man, Vancha knew how to aim carefully. He got every bit of vomit into the bag, much to the relief of everyone on the plane. 

“Are you alright?” Darren asked him. Vancha hunched over the bag as if it were his new god, and Larten looked for a way out. 

Unfortunately he looked through the window. 

Darren had never heard Larten shriek as high as that, and he doubted he ever would again. 

“Land this plane!” He bellowed. The passengers stared at him, and the flight attendants rushed to him. 

Vancha had vomited everything in his stomach by then, and he wiped his mouth with a tissue in Darren’s bag. 

“Is everything alright?” One of the flight attendants asked. Larten shook his head and Vancha nodded, whereas Darren just looked at her with a pleading expression. 

“Now,” Vancha said. 

“No!” Larten shrieked. 

“Larten,” Vancha said, “we’ll be fine. Just don’t look out the window and you’ll be fine.” The flight attendants looked at the three of them with dazzling smiles Darren could see were fake. 

“So it’s all taken care of?” She asked. Darren nodded with red cheeks. “Good.” 

It took twenty minutes for Larten to calm down from his panic attack, and by then he was asleep. So was Vancha as well. 

Darren, after the raucous, decided to take a nap as well. He slipped his earbuds back in, tried to ignore the stares burning into his back, and fell asleep within twenty minutes. 

He, unfortunately, was awakened by a tap on his shoulder. And then another tap. And then multiple little taps until he opened his eyes. 

“What?” Darren hissed. He looked at the time on his phone and it read midnight exactly. 

“Welcome to London,” Gavner said with a grin. “How’d they do on the flight?” Darren groaned. 

“Vancha threw up, Larten wanted you to land the plane, and I wanted to die.” Gavner laughed softly. 

“Heard about that. They’re doing better right?” Gavner asked. Larten opened a sleepy eye. 

“Good morning Gavner,” he said sleepily. Vancha nestled his forehead in the crook of Larten’s shoulder. “Gavner?” Larten asked. 

“Sure is, old man,” Gavner said. Larten’s eyes widened. 

“Then who is flying the plane?” Larten hissed, wakening Vancha. 

“What?” Vancha said groggily. 

“My copilot,” Gavner chuckled, “and autopilot as well I suppose.” Larten breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head back onto the (now closed with blinds- Darren may be dumb but he wasn’t stupid) window. Vancha followed suit, and soon the pair were back asleep. 

“I’ve got to go,” Gavner said, “quick bathroom break and then dinner. We’ll be flying over the Thames soon- if Larten wasn’t such a sour old buzzard I would tell you to look out the window.” 

“If you weren’t such a clueless old man I would tell you to get back to flying,” Larten said with his eyes closed. Vancha laughed softly and wrapped his hand around Larten’s. 

“See you later, kid,” Gavner said. 

“Later, Gavner.” He squeezes Darren’s shoulders and made his way to the bathroom. 

“If you could fly anywhere in the world,” Gavner asked, “where would you go?” Vancha chuckled. 

“I’m not flying anywhere ever again,” he said. “No money in the world is enough to convince me.” Gavner turned to Mr. Crepsley. 

“Perhaps I would fly to France and visit-“ Larten cleated his throat. Gavner nodded, and Larten rubbed his eyes vigorously. 

“I’m too damned sleep deprived to think straight,” Larten complained. Vancha smacked his butt softly. 

“Aren’t you always?” He asked with a cheeky grin. Larten smiles softly. 

“Aye.” 

Divine muse


	2. Hotel Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larten and Vancha have an interesting (and rather morbid) conversation in a hotel room.

Hotel 

Vancha slept for hours, whereas Larten could not get a wink in. It was surprising, especially since he should be tired on all accounts. 

That man. Why? 

The question had bothered Larten for quite some time. Why indeed did he feel odd around Vancha? It certainly wasn’t his lack of bathing, but that was a contribution. 

What was it? 

He studied the man’s face and smiled. He, much to his own protests, slept in a bed for once- it might have something to do with the fact they were attacked in broad daylight and Vancha took the brunt of the blows, pushing Larten aside. His face was slightly squished into the mattress, and he snored softly. A strand of hair was in his face, and being the gentleman he is, he brushed it behind Vancha’s ear. 

“Hmm?” Vancha asked. He grimaced as he moved toward Larten. 

“Sire-“ Larten began. 

“Vancha or Ugly,” Vancha reminded. Larten nodded. 

“Vancha,” he said softly. Vancha smiled slightly at the sound of his name, and then grimaced once more. 

“What time is it?” He asked. Larten turned his gaze toward the clock. 

“It is nearly sundown,” he said. Vancha nodded and attempted to rise, but his elbows buckled. He landed back into the bed with a groan. 

“I really protest, Sire,” he said, “stay here and recover.” Vancha shook his head and tried to get up again. 

“No can do,” he said, “destiny waits for no man.” Larten smiled softly and brushed a hand through his hair- still clean from the plane ride- and felt the hairs slide through his fingertips. 

“You are of no use to the clan dead,” Larten said. Vancha chuckled and relaxed his muscles, laying down on the cheap mattress fully. 

“What would you do if I was one of the two who died?” Vancha asked suddenly. It was normal to talk about death and dying, but this was uncommon. Larten paused and thought. 

“I-“ Larten stuttered. He did not want to think about it, but it was necessary. 

Had he truly gone about the journey as if all three were invincible? How foolish- how utterly foolish of him. 

“I,” Larten began carefully, “I would hunt down the bastard who calls himself the Lord of the Vampaneze, kill him myself, and-“ 

“-and what?” Vancha asked softly. He reached for Larten’s free hand and wrapped it in his own. Larten felt a flutter of anxiety in his stomach. 

“I would miss you terribly,” he said. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyelids. He cleared his throat and looked around the room for an escape from the conversation. 

The coffee pot. 

“Would you care for some coffee?” Larten asked. Vancha grunted in response. “I shall make enough for two- I have no doubt that Darren and Harkat have already drank enough coffee to last them an eternity.” A chuckle from the green haired man elicited the same anxious reaction from Larten. 

Larten made his way to the coffee pot, shook some coffee into the filter, poured water into it, and pressed the button. The smell almost immediately filled the room. 

“Larten-“ Vancha said. “I’ll be back.” Larten frowned. 

“You are not going anywhere!” Larten hissed. His tone surprised both Vancha and himself. Why was he so defensive? 

“Why?” Vancha asked, his tone using a defensive edge. Larten’s fingers wrapped around the counter. 

“Because you are injured,” he explained as Vancha made his way to Larten, “and I am more than sure that Arrow would not care if you were a day late due to injuries.” 

Larten and Vancha were now facing each other. The anxieties returned. 

And then something happened. 

Vancha captures Larten’s lips in a kiss, and for once Larten did not say no. 

“I love you,” Vancha said huskily. Larten nodded. 

“I as well,” Larten said. He wrapped his arms around the bigger man, and they stayed there like that for what seemed to be an eternity. 

“Vancha?” Larten whispered. “If I am one of the two-“ 

“-don’t talk like that,” Vancha interrupted before planting a soft kiss on Larten’s temple. 

“-take care of Darren,” Larten whispered. “If I-“ 

“I promise,” Vancha whispered in response.


	3. Hell to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larten and Vancha failed.

Larten’s tears had dried in the hot August wind of Paris, France. The city where Alicia has died was now the city that Darren had died as well. 

That thought made a scream tear through his body. It should’ve been him. It should’ve been him. 

“Steve, you bitch!” Larten screamed into the night sky. He crumpled into a ball in the streets and sobbed. 

His son. 

The boy he raised from a young age, who taught him about life as much as Larten taught him about the same subject. He gave Larten the one thing he craved- redemption from his horrific past- and in return Larten became in loco parentis to the young Shan. 

A Vampire Prince who wasn’t even in his prime. An assistant who defied death countless times. A man who was killed by his childhood best friend. The thought made Larten’s blood boil with rage. 

“Larten,” Vancha said huskily. Larten wasn’t the only one grieving, but he was the one being selfish. 

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” Larten hissed as he dragged himself to his feet. The lack of food and over abundance of sun combined with grief nearly made him faint, but he overcame the urge to fall back down. 

“I’m going to disembowel him,” he muttered, “and make him wish he was dead. I’ll keep him alive at the brink of death screaming for mercy, and then he will know my pain.” 

Larten let out a cry as Darren’s final shrieks echoed through his brain. His son had died a horrible death, and now there would be hell to pay. 

“I’ll find Leonard,” Larten whispered through tears of rage and grief, “and I’ll make him wish he had chose to kill me instead of Darren.” He gagged on his assistant’s name, almost as if he couldn’t fathom that Darren was dead. 

All three of them knew the risks, and Darren had faced his death with honor. Songs would be sung about him, songs of great reverence that Vancha would be there to sing. 

Larten would be singing in Paradise with his son. He vowed to himself that night that he wouldn’t outlive Vancha.


	4. Dead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seba and co. find out about Darren’s untimely demise.

Seba 

He didn’t expect for Darren to be the first casualty; in fact, he expected no casualties. He didn’t know how to feel. 

Paris, Arra, Gavner, countless others, and now Darren. 

Paris’s death hurt for a reason entirely different than why Darren’s hurt. He expected it. He could see Paris deteriorate over the decades, and both knew it was time. He could prepare himself for it, somehow, and adjust to living life without his husband. 

But Darren- he was unexpected. He was young, almost a full vampire, and in a way his grandson. He sighed and sat down at the table where he and Darren often ate dinner- the poor boy was trapped in the Hall of Princes and could barley escape through the guise of dinner. 

“Even in death may you be triumphant,” he said. “And in memory may you reside forever.” 

He was the first person that Larten told besides Vancha. Was it quick? And how would Larten go about the hunt now? 

Seba knew deep down how it would go, but he didn’t want to think about it. It would happen in the exact way that Larten got revenge for Malora’s death- absolute carnage in his wake, a warning sign for others who dared cross him. He wanted desperately to talk to him in person, embrace him, and comfort him- he knew that it would not happen. 

“I need to speak to the Princes,” Seba said to no one in particular. The halls were alive with chatter, and he couldn’t stand it. 

He was let into the hall without much fuss- he was quartermaster, after all- and he made straight for the platform. Arrow and Mika smiled when they saw him, and it was a smile of relief. Seba’s heart dropped, and it showed on his face. 

“What’s going on?” Arrow asked as he made his way to the platform. Seba climbed the stairs to the thrones, and the generals gaped in fear. No one did that- ever. 

“Arrow,” Seba said softly. Arrow frowned, and Mika turned his head to the conversation. “Darren is...” 

Seba choked on the words. He knew it was true, but saying it out loud was an admittance that it was true. He couldn’t. 

“Wounded?” Arrow asked. He stood up and looked concerned. Seba weakly shook his head. 

“No.” 

“Dead,” Mika said, “he’s dead.” Seba nodded and cried. 

Now that he had said the words- or more accurately Mika- the reality and gravity of the situation hit him. 

Darren was dead. And never coming back. Darren, the strong boy who shouldered the burdens of Princehood, childhood, adulthood, and war simultaneously. Darren, the sweet boy who had grown into a man whilst he was away. Seba wanted to meet him and see the man he had become. 

He would see him soon, that much he did not doubt. His heart had been acting up after Paris’s funeral, and he couldn’t help but chuckle sadly at the morbidity of it all. The old wive’s tale was true- spouses did not live long after one of them died. It was backed by science, of course- Darren loved science- but Seba was too old to understand it. Darren had once remarked offhandedly about how he would’ve wanted to become a scientist or a doctor if he had not been blooded. 

Mika had joked- a rare thing, especially during the war- that he could become a phlebotomist. Darren did not get it at first, but when Mika explained it the two burst at the seams with laughter. They laughed for a good minute or so, and then they both returned to their grim selves. 

“I’m sorry,” Arrow choked. He broke down and sobbed, his head cradled in his hands. 

Arrow had adopted Darren in all but formality. He had raised children with Sarah, and he missed being a father. Their children had died long ago and returned to the dust from which they came, but that didn’t stop Arrow from missing them. 

He taught Darren things that he lacked in- formalities that the Princes were expected to uphold, traditions, fighting, how to use poisons, and a multitude of other things. He quickly became the father that Darren needed, and there was more than one occasion that Arrow and Larten coparented. They butted heads terribly, but at times they both did the job well. 

Seba felt his heart beat oddly and held his hand against his chest. Is this what dying felt like? 

Details would come out soon as to how exactly Darren died, and the old man was certain that he did not want to know.


	5. Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all goes down at the Cirque.

Vancha 

“Love,” Vancha soothed as he poured the alcohol on Larten’s back. Larten bit into the pillow and screamed. 

It had been months since Darren’s murder and Larten was borderline suicidal. He pushed himself too hard and almost got himself killed, and at other times Vancha couldn’t get him out of bed. It was a vicious cycle, and Larten was currently in the first phase of it. 

The vampaneze and vampets could injure, but not kill, the two of them. And Larten was unfortunately on the receiving end of a well-placed blow to the back. The axe had embedded itself in him, and he was quite frankly lucky to even be alive. 

“Almost there,” Vancha soothed. He gently dried the wound with a clean rag and prepared the needle and thread. 

“I should be dead,” Larten cried between sobs. Vancha teared up at the memory of that day in the cave. 

Darren’s screams of pain echoed through their heads constantly. The sight of his arms and legs thrashing whilst burning alive made Vancha want to scream bloody murder and curl into a fetal position. He couldn’t, though, because Larten was barely functioning as of late. If both of them went down the clan had no hope. So for the time being Vancha bottled everything up, worked together with Alice and Debbie, and spent his time with his fingers curled around the lucky necklace Darren gave him before his passing. 

It had been his mother’s rosary, given to him on the day of his funeral. Darren had taken great care of it, often reciting Hail Marys in times of great stress. Vancha himself was not religious (he was spiritual, and there was a difference as far as he was concerned), but he said a silent prayer of hope. 

Hope for the clan’s future. Hope for Larten, the man he loved, to feel while once more. Hope for the humans. Hope that Darren found his way to paradise and was at peace now. Hope that Darren’s death would be avenged. Most of all, though, hope for himself. 

“I know,” Vancha said. “Me too.” 

Larten’s body wracked with sobs, and all Vancha could do was stitch the wound in his back. He worked in silence and only stopped to wipe tears from his eyes. 

It was hard not having the kid around. He couldn’t call him a man, and he never would be a man. Vancha let out a sob. He was nearly a man, and he’d waited so damn long for it. Just a few more months and he would’ve been there. 

Who was he joking- Darren was a man, even if his body was not. They weren’t able to acquire his body- there was nothing left. A ceremony for the fallen Prince would be held after the year was up. 

It would all end tonight. 

“I’m gonna kill that bastard,” Larten hiccuped. “I’ll do what I should’ve done long ago. I’ll make him regret the day he was born. I’ll torture him lik-“ 

“-done,” Vancha croaked. “I’m gonna get you something for the pain.” Larten carefully rose from the table and planted his feet on the ground. 

“You will do no such thing,” he said. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, and all Vancha wanted to do was hug the pain away. “It ends tonight, and I will be there mentally and physically to ensure Steve Leonard dies the death he deserves.” He spat Steve’s name as of it were vitriol. 

“Let’s get there,” Vancha said. He knew there was no persuading him otherwise, and quite frankly he wasn’t in the mood to dissuade him. 

The arena was sprawling with activity. Human police, the vampaneze, cirque performers, vampets, vampirites, Alice and Debbie, Evanna and Desmond, and the two remaining hunters. Fate is a bitch. 

“You’re here!” Steve hollered. He stood on the body of one of the performers. Larten couldn’t make out who it was, but a white hot rage came over him and he no longer cared about the performers.

Steve tread on the body, the neck giving a sickening crackling noise, and let his feet touch the ground. Gannen was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Gannen has sense after all, Vancha thought. 

“Vancha,” Larten said slowly, “lay a flower for me in Darren’s ceremony.” Vancha immediately froze, and a dread flowed through his bloodstream. 

“Larten-“ he choked. Larten looked at him sadly, and smiled. 

“I love you, Vancha- never forget that.”


	6. Broken Whiskey Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mika shocks everyone in attendance

Mika 

Everything was normal, save that broken whiskey glass shattered across his cell. He had drank god’s knows how much last night, and was left with a hangover (and no more glass cups). He was more than miffed at drunk Mika for that. 

The news of Larten’s demise hit hard, and he lost both of them. Darren was like a little cousin or brother, and sure he was annoying sometimes, but he balanced everything well. 

“You deserved better,” Mika muttered. He felt a knot in his throat. “And I’m sorry.” 

A gentle knock at his cell door. Arrow, probably, or Seba. 

“Are you ready?” Vancha asked softly. Mika exhaled and brushed down his suit. 

“No,” he said shakily. He bit his cheek and walked out to join Vancha anyway. 

Vancha’s eyes widened at the sigh of Sire Ver Leth. He had never been seen like this before. 

“Are you sure?” Vancha asked him softly. Mika nodded with utter conviction. He wasn’t sure about the whole thing, but he was certainly sure of his outfit. 

The ceremony itself would be as big as Paris’s, if not bigger. Two vampires were being laid to rest. Two very important vampires. 

One body. 

Mika walked into the hall and he was greeted with silence. He thinly smiled and made his way to Arrow, whose eyebrows were raised to where his hairline should be. 

“What’s this?” Arrow asked. He too was utterly confused. 

“A change,” Mika answered. Whispers surrounded the hall. 

“You’re not supposed to wear white to a funeral!” Arrow hissed. “Why couldn’t you break out your nice ceremony robes?” Mika smiles sadly and stared at the plot where Darren’s body should have been. He took a deep breath before answering. 

“Because,” he said slowly, “a long time ago, a Cub Prince asked me why I dressed like I was going to a funeral.” He gave a watery smile. “And I told him that I wore white to funerals.”


	7. Me, Myself, And I (And Darius)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Arrow, Darius, and Gannen are in the same location?

Arrow 

It had been years since the funerals and Arrow still couldn’t adjust to their new normal. Gannen Harst roamed the hallowed halls freely, Darius was a vampire, and Darren was gone. 

“Busy day?” Mika asked sarcastically. Arrow yawned and nodded. He hadn’t had a moment to himself in months, and all he wanted was to take a nap. 

“Could you take over for me?” Arrow asked. “I’ve got a meeting today with a few of them.” 

Arrow refused to say vampaneze in the Hall of Princes. It was a great source of conflict for the entire clan. He was still bitter about what happened to Sarah, and Gannen couldn’t blame him. He even went as far as to extend his condolences for Sarah centuries after her death- a touching sentiment, but it didn’t matter. She was still dead. His kind still killed him. And now they were reunited in the mountain. Together. 

“I’ve got to train Darius,” Mika said, “Vancha appointed me to train him.” Arrow bristled at that. 

“Why?” He asked. Mika drew in a breath. 

“Well,” he started, “to be honest, you’re not that good with the vampaneze. And he’s the son of their Lord.” Arrow bit his cheek. “And he’s already been through enough trauma. He watched Steve murk a kid his age in front of him, Larten nearly snapped his neck in the same day, and he’s thousands of miles away from his mother and everything he’s ever known.” 

“So what?” Arrow countered. “I’m just as good with kids as you- even better at times.” Mika nodded and then looked down. 

“He also requested to not be alone with you,” he said quietly. 

The elephant in the room shrunk a million sizes after Mika spoke. 

“Why?” Arrow frowned. 

“Because you scare him, Arrow. You brutally murdered his people and you can’t even say their name out loud, much less want to work with them on the peace treaty. The kid has a right to not want to be around you.” Arrow scoffed. 

“Yes, I do that, Mika. It’s not like I’m gonna kill him.” 

“He doesn’t know that, Arrow.” The sentence hit Arrow in the gut. 

“I couldn’t ever kill a kid,” he whispered. 

“What is the kid was the Vampaneze Lord’s biological son?” Mika asked. Arrow paused. “Exactly. I’m asking you to respect Darius’s wishes and leave him alone.” Arrow nodded. 

“You know I wouldn’t ever kill a kid, right?” Arrow asked softly. Mika paused, and then nodded. “I could never. They’re innocent.” Mika took a deep breath, set down the broth and bread for Arrow, and silently left the Hall of Princes. 

In the Halls of Games Darius watched Mika spar with a general. He was demonstrating foot placement and wrist placement and why they were important, but Darius couldn’t pay attention. He saw Gannen walk past them listlessly, carrying a box of something for Seba. 

“Crawl back to your cave, you purple traitor!” Someone hollered. They threw something at Gannen with accurate aim, and yet Gannen kept walking as if nothing had happened. 

Darius’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t stand to see his uncle treated like this. He may not have been his biological uncle, but he was more of a father than Steve was. 

He ran after Gannen once Mika turned his back and sparred once more with the General. 

“And that is how you maneuver your feet in the event of being cornered,” Mika said breezily, “any questions?” He turned around and saw Darius was missing. 

Oh shit. 

“Gannen!” Darius called out. Gannen turned around and looked at his nephew incredulously. 

“Darius?” He asked cautiously. “Where are you supposed to be right now?” Darius’s cheeks reddened. 

“With Sire Mika.” Gannen set down the box and frowned. 

“And why are you not?” 

“Because I wanna go home,” he cried. “I don’t like it here. They hate me, and I want my mom! I wish it was a nightmare and I would just wake up!” The tears started, and Gannen sighed. 

“Come with me,” he said gently. 

“And they treat you horribly and try to kill you and Quinn!” Gannen drew in a breath. Of course Darius would be upset about that. 

“Don’t worry about us,” he reassured him, “we’ll be fine. We always are. Were a resilient folk, us vampaneze.” 

They walked to Gannen’s quarters and entered. Upon entering Gannen wrapped his arms tightly around his adopted son. 

“I love you, Darius,” he said softly. “Don’t you ever forget that. You may be different, but you are most certainly not alone.” Darius sobbed into Gannen’s flannel. 

“I want my mom!” He sobbed. Gannen stroked the boy’s head of blond hair. 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not!” Darius suddenly shouted. Gannen was surprised. “All you want is for me to be like Steve!” Gannen frowned as Darius wriggled out of his grasp. 

“That is the exact opposite of what I want, and who you are,” Gannen began. 

“Just leave me alone!” Darius shouted. He ran out of the room and toward the hall. 

Gannen sighed and sat down on the edge of his coffin. He had expected things to be different, but not this different. Darius was the nephew of Darren Shan, and the son of the Lord of the Vampaneze. Not an easy life for him to lead. Poor kid. 

Darius ran through the maze of tunnels and caves blindly, not caring about where he was or where he went. He wanted to get away. Descend the mountain, find his mother, and forget that this ever happened. 

But that would never happen. Annie had to move across the world to escape the scrutiny of the media, the threat of the Vampaneze, and numerous other things. She was completely cut off from him, and he was cut off from the world. All he wanted was to go home. 

His foot slipped and suddenly he was on the ground. 

He awoke with a buzzing sensation in his right wrist and a foggy brain. Why was he there? What had he done? 

Footsteps coming toward him. Didn’t recognize the boots. Black. 

Gannen waited for hours for Darius to show up. As the hours ticked by he became more anxious. Where was his son? He needed to find him. 

He stood up and retraced Darius’s footsteps. Thank the gods the boy hadn’t showered in a few days. 

“Find the coffee maker they said,” Arrow grumbled, “it’ll be easy they said.” Mika was in the Hall of Princes for the time being, but he was getting a migraine due to caffeine withdrawals. The coffee maker had been misplaced unfortunately, and since Arrow was the only free person he was the one who retrieved it. 

A bump brought Arrow out of his angry trance. 

“Hello?” He called out. He edged closer with his knife in hand. “Damned vampaneze,” he muttered. 

He saw a body laying on the ground face down, and he immediately checked a pulse. There was a pulse. It was pitch dark, though, so Arrow couldn’t tell who it was. 

“Hello?” Arrow asked softly. The person in question whimpered softly. To high of a voice for a grown person. 

“Darius?” He asked in shock. “Darius, answer me.” No response.

Arrow panicked. The kid was injured badly. Not responding. Pulse, though- that was good. 

“Fuck the coffee maker,” he muttered as he located Darius’s spine. He ran his calloused fingers down his neck, and then down his spine to find anything out of place. Nothing was out of place, so he hoisted the kid on his shoulders and walked into an area with lichen. 

“Broke wrist,” he muttered, “and a bloody head. What were you thinking?” 

Three stitches, one cast, and one very angry Gannen later, Darius was given 

“I don’t believe you,” Gannen hissed. “You’ve wanted nothing but harm on him ever since he stepped foot in this mountain!” Arrow shook his head. 

“I found him lying in a puddle of his own blood due to your negligence!” Arrow hissed. “Ask him yourself!” 

“What happened?” Gannen asked Darius. 

“I fell,” he slurred, “and Arrow found me.” 

“I’ll be damned,” Gannen said, “you did the bare minimum.” Arrow bristled, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Let me know if either of you need anything,” he said as he got up and walked to the door. He paused at the foot of Darius’s bed. “I mean it, Darius. I’m here night and day. You don’t have to take me up on it if you don’t want to, though- I don’t want you to feel obligated to do that.” Darius gave a sleepy smile. 

“Of course, Arrow.”


End file.
